


Listen Up, Asshole

by ireallyneedthosestamps



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7097398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ireallyneedthosestamps/pseuds/ireallyneedthosestamps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone on Tumblr mentioned an apartment!au where "pete is in arma angelus and practices in the apartment next door to patrick every night at like one am, always waking him up with awful screamo and one day patrick walks over there and bangs on the door" so I decided to write a lil story based on that (but it kind of turned into a progression of their relationship oops)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen Up, Asshole

_Not again._

Patrick smashes his pillow further around his head in an attempt to block out what sound like an animals dying to out-of-tune guitars. When that proves unsuccessful, he rolls over and checks the time. The small illuminated numbers read the ungodly time of 1:35am. Fucking one in the morning and these assholes next door have to practice their zoo genocide for the third time this week. Well, Patrick’s had enough, and having earned a reputation to blow off the handle, he's going to go over there and give them a piece of his mind (and possibly fist; he had to wake up at 6 this morning and doesn't hold back when he's running on 5 hours sleep and coffee). With a sigh, he pulls on his cap and glasses and heads out the door.

 _Maybe I should buy some earplugs,_ Patrick thinks as he pounds on his neighbor’s door. _Oh well, it's kind of too late now._ He bangs again, until finally the door opens to reveal a slim, tan guy not much taller than Patrick himself. The culprit’s dark eyes sweep over Patrick’s Ninja Turtle pajamas and he visibly tries and fails to hold back a smirk. Suddenly any apprehension Patrick felt melts away.

“Listen up asshole,” he says, pointing a finger at said asshole, “I don't care if you're a bunch of tormented vampires who never sleep and just want to be loved or whatever, most of us like to actually get some rest during the night, so if you could just find a better place to make your dying whale music that'd be great, all right?”

The dark-haired man simply grins in reply. “Nice to meet you. I'm Pete.” he holds out his hand.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Real funny, but seriously, just chill with your fucking death music every night, I can't sleep with… that… playing.

“You think you can do better?” Pete smirks. God, his smile is so annoying.

“I think anything could be better than whatever the hell you guys are practicing in there,” Patrick retorts. In the background he hears someone call out to Pete, asking him what's going on.

“Come by after dinner tomorrow and show me, and maybe I can get my band to quiet down.”

“Deal,” he begins to turn away. “Oh, and by the way, I'm Patrick.”

***

The next day, Patrick knocks on Pete’s door, a queasy feeling in his stomach. Maybe he should have just stayed home, go on living his sleep-deprived life instead of calling strangers assholes and then showing up the next day to play.

Pete opens the door. “Really, man, argyle?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Shut the fuck up,” Patrick says, punching him in the arm as he walks through the door. Somehow they already seem like old friends, which would honestly be freaking Patrick out if he wasn’t distracted by the pile of curly hair looking up at him from the couch.

“Oh yeah, so this is Joe, and he’ll be listening to you too,” Pete flops down next to Joe. 

Joe waves his hand in greeting. “Sup, dude.” Patrick smiles back politely.

“My band left all their stuff over there,” Pete points towards a corner piled up with guitars, drums, and amps. “Just play whatever.”

 

“Right,” Patrick picks a smelly jacket off the snare drum and sits down. After a few awkward moments, he plays a drum solo that’s been floating around in his head for the past week or so. For a while he even forgets that two dudes he barely knows are watching him, that’s he’s only doing this so he can get some sleep tonight. Once he’s finished, Pete and Joe exchange a look.

“Bro, that was pretty cool. You play anything else?” Joe asks.

“Um, yeah, I play bass and a little guitar-”

Pete interrupts him. “Sing?”

“Nah, I’m not really a singer,” Patrick shrugs.

“Really?” Pete seems genuinely disappointed. “I don’t know, you just seem like you’d have a good voice, you know.”

“Well, I could sing, if you really want.” Pete nods, and Patrick picks up the the guitar propped up against the wall. It’s not acoustic, but whatever. He sings a David Bowie song, trying to focus more on getting the chords right than his voice.

Pete and Joe mumble to each other. Then, Pete takes a big breath. “So, um, wanna join our band? We really need a singer, and you’re kind of, um, perfect.”

Patrick blinks.”Not the wailing animal one, right?”

“Arma? No, I’m kind of setting that aside for now. Me and Joe are trying to form a new one. Right now it’s only us, but we can totally fix that. Are you in?” Pete gives him puppy eyes from underneath his hoodie.

“Wait, you actually want me to sing? In your band?” Patrick’s still confused.

“Hell yeah bro, you rock,” Joe says.

“If I have a new band to play with, there won’t be as many late night cat murders,” Pete adds, and combined with his increasingly intense puppy eyes, Patrick’s having trouble saying no.

“...Sure, I’ll join you guys’ lame band,” Patrick grins. Pete grins back.

***

Even now, Patrick still marvels at his luck. How did he manage to rent out an apartment right next to Pete’s, and how did he manage to be exactly what Pete and Joe were looking for? Doesn’t matter, he supposes. All that’s really important is that he’s doing what he’s always wanted to do, and he’s doing it with the coolest guys.

Well, the coolest guys, and Pete.

“Okay, I know you’ve got a problem with attachment issues and stuff, but can you please get your sweaty feet out of my face?” Patrick attempts to move Pete’s legs to the floor, the seat, his own legs, anywhere but right in front of his fucking nose. But Pete’s pretty much half octopus, a fact Patrick knows very well but still tries to change.

“C’mon, Trick, this is only way I can sleep,” Pete almost groans, almost whines. Clearly, he’s as beaten down as Patrick. He just handles it differently.

“There’s no other conceivable way for you to get comfy?”

“Well, there’s this,” Pete twists himself around so that his back is against Patrick’s chest. He snuggles up, stretching his legs across the empty space he left.

Patrick grunts. “Fine,” he says. A few minutes later, he feels Pete’s breathing slow. Patrick follows soon after.

***

“Patrick.”

Patrick reluctantly squints open his eyes. He barely makes out the shadow of a familiar figure.

“ _Patrick,_ ” Pete says again. His voice sounds slightly cracked, and definitely urgent.

“What,” Patrick rubs his eyes and looks more closely. Pete’s golden brown eyes are wide, somehow managing to reflect light in the nearly pitch black bunk. “Another nightmare?” Pete nods. “Aight, come here.” Patrick rolls over, and Pete immediately shifts in next to him. “Wanna talk about it?”

Pete shakes his head, shaking ever so slightly as he wraps his arms around Patrick. “I’m good, I just need some company, you know?” Patrick does know, at least as well as he can without actually being Pete. But he knows not to pressure him, to just let him hug Patrick until the sun comes up. A comfortable silence falls over them.

“Hey, Patrick?” Pete speaks up suddenly, his voice an echoing whisper against the quiet hum of the bus.

“Yeah?”

“Can you hum or something?”

“Yeah, okay,” Patrick’s half asleep, but he starts half-humming, half-singing You Are My Sunshine, anyways. Pete buries his head into Patrick’s neck, and soon after that he’s fast asleep. Just like old times. Except, this time, Patrick can’t seem to follow.

***

Wait. what? Patrick had just gone into Pete’s apartment to ask him if he had found Patrick’s shirt in his suitcase, but he’s currently pushed up against a wall, Pete’s lips pressed firmly against his.

After a few lingering moments (or minutes) where Patrick may or may not have kissed back, Pete finally steps away. His eyes look suddenly terrified, reminding Patrick of the late nights he’s spent with him talking over all of their worst fears. Patrick never thought he was one of them.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-” Pete stutters, looking shamefully at the worn carpet. Patrick watches him, not entirely sure what to say.

“It’s, um, it’s fine,” he finally manages. Pete’s head snaps up in shock. “Like, it wasn’t the worst thing ever, you know. I’m totally okay with it.” 

Pete steps up to him more slowly this time, carefully cupping Patrick’s chin in his hand. Patrick doesn’t flinch. He kisses him again, much sweeter, full of much more promise. Eventually, they pull apart.

“You’re cool with this?” Pete asks, pressing his forehead lightly against Patrick’s.

“Listen up, asshole, I’m more than cool with this,” Patrick responds, wrapping his arms around Pete’s waist. He’s never really done that before, it’s usually Pete’s job to wrap them around each other. This feels right, though. “Thanks for screaming at 1am every morning.” Pete chuckles against Patrick's neck, sending tingles down his spine. Yeah, it’s definitely cool like this.

**Author's Note:**

> Dude thanks for reading this! It's the first peterick fanfic I've written and if you gave me any sort of feedback that'd be pretty damn cool. I'm pretty sure I'll be writing more soon :)


End file.
